Oi Albert!
by appositeNautilus
Summary: What if... Hey Arnold was set in the United Kingdom? Albert wants to get on the rugby team, but he can't do it alone...
1. Chapter 1: Hey, Rugby Face!

My first fanfic. Hey Arnold! does not belong to me. If you are interested, yes, I am British. Let's do this thing.

-aN-

"Oi, Albert! Albert!" the boy heard a voice call.

Shaking off thoughts of submarines and fighting giant man-eating squid, Albert focussed on the matter at hand. He was one of the last standing by the touchline, waiting to be picked.

"You awake in there?" his best friend Janesh asked. "You're on our team, mate." Janesh looked impatient as he adjusted the tall turban on his head. Probably didn't want it unravelling during the game, Albert thought as he jogged over to join his friend, his team captain Henryk, and the others.

"Your loss, Fritz," Helen drawled, spinning a rugby ball on her hand idly. "Still, I guess if we lose this ball we can always kick Albert's head round instead. It's the right shape."

"Just pick yer next lousy player, Helen," Henryk taunted. "Only thing what's gonna get kicked's yer arse!"

"Hmm..." Helen said, catching the ball and surveying the remaining players.

Albert peered round Henryk's broad shoulders and broader gut. Admittedly there weren't many decent ones left. Euan and Sarah were sitting poring over a music magazine, neither of them particularly interested in the game or anything else, for that matter. Keeno was lurking - no change there - short of breath as always, thin as a rake. Even for touch rugby, not much of an athlete. Iola was waiting expectantly to be picked, her auburn braids pinned up with hairpins for the games lesson, ever since Helen 'accidentally' yanked one nearly out of her head a few months ago during hockey. Her baggy, faded red rugby jersey, probably a hand-me-down from her Welsh father, clashed horribly with her green shorts and trainers, but Albert didn't really mind - although he could see that Regina was sniggering to Si about it on Helen's team. He thought she looked nice, like always. He felt an elbow in his side, and looked to Janesh, who gave him a knowing look and wagged his head in Helen's direction, keeping his attention on the team-picking.

"Alright, Lettuce Lass, shift your backside, you're picked," Helen said, waving Sarah over. Sarah looked a little perturbed to be on the mouthy Brummie's side, but shuffled over all the same.

Henryk scratched his close-shaven head, looking at the final three to be picked.

"Uhhhhhh..." he murmured, looking from Iola to Euan to Keeno. "Who should I pick, guys?" he said, leaning into Cubert, Natalie, Janesh and Albert.

Cubert laid a long, spindly arm on Henryk' shoulder.

"Well, oi reckon Miss Iola'd be a good choice, yup," he offered, in his thick West Country drawl.

"Yeah," Albert concurred. "You should pick her."

"Alright, yeah!" Henryk turned back to the diminished group on the touchline. "Iola, you're with us!"

"Oh!" Iola beamed, her hands clapping together as she loped over on long pale legs. "That's grand then!" She seemed to offer an especially glowing smile for Albert, that made him grin back toothily involuntarily.

There was a short argument between Helen and Henryk as to who would take the remaining two 'players', Helen not being able to stand Keeno, and both regarding Euan as a walking talking bad luck charm, but everything was sorted to mutual approval, and the teams split for their halves, with Helen kicking off.

She took a long, loping run-up, Fionna holding the ball for her, before she punted it with all her might. It sailed far over the heads of Henryk, Cubert and Janesh, before bouncing and lurching drunkenly towards Iola, who flailed a while before grabbing it and looking quite pleased with herself.

"Iola! Pass it!" Albert cried, as Helen and Si bore down on her. Her smile turned to alarm, and without even looking she tossed the ball in Albert's direction. He ran for the catch, cradling it in his arms as he charged on for the wing. Euan and Regina moved to intercept, and he could see Helen wheeling round to cut him off. Henryk and the rest of the forwards were also making a beeline for him behind her.

"Al-bert!" Henryk roared, as he was closed down further and further. He could hear Helen growling on his right, and with splitseconds to spare flung the ball over her head towards Cubert, the closest of the trio. He didn't see him catch it, though, because at that moment Helen ploughed into him, a dervish of knees and elbows that easily bowled the slight boy over. She bore him to the muddy ground, her hands wrapped round his waist, and all the air rushed out of him in a gasp. Dizzied by the drop, Albert was insensible for a moment, only snapping out of it when he heard Helen give a contemptuous snort.

"Hey, rugby face," she said. "Try not to get in my way next time."

Albert shook his (admittedly fairly wide and short) head, to stop the sky spinning, and sat up.

"Helen, you know we're playing touch rugby," he complained. "You didn't need to tackle me."

"Tackle this, rugby face," she sneered, pointing to her skinny rear. "Don't stand where I'm running and I won't flatten you."

"You alright, Albert?" Janesh said, finally reaching them.

"That was no fair," Henryk declared. "Our scrum, right here!"

"Fine, whatever, chubbo," Helen said. She looked around, folding her arms. "Where're my bloody forwards?"

Si and Tad stepped forward. Helen rolled her eyes at the two diminutive boys.

"This is what I have to work with?"

"You picked your team, pigtails," Henryk said. "Prepare to get rolled!" He hunkered down by Cubert, Janesh on Cubert's other side. Helen scowled, but formed up with her runtish comrades flanking her. They locked, heads and limbs latticed and tensed ready.

"Albert! Feed me!" Henryk barked.

"Please," Helen said. "We could do without that sight again today."

Albert ignored her, and picked up the ball, skirting round to the side, where Henryk' beefy thighs were poised against Tad's drumsticks.

"Ready?" he asked, surveying the backs as he did so. Natalie and Iola were standing by and back, with Keeno a little way behind. Good enough.

"Just give us the ball, rugby face," Helen said.

Albert threw it in, angling it well towards Cubert's long legs. With a grunt from Henryk, his end of the scrum surged forward, angling away from Albert. As he'd thought, Tad was no match for the brutish Pole. However, Si was giving Janesh a little more trouble, and so the whole scrum pivoted, with Cubert flailing his long, spaghetti legs about, eventually hooking the ball out back. Albert was well positioned to pick it up, and scooted round the side of the scrum, back towards the wing. Regina, Helen's scrum half, was slow to react, but chased after him, Fionna and Sarah running up in support. They were all far too far away though. The only one he had to beat was Euan! Albert allowed himself a grin. Euan was a complete jinx, there was no chance he'd tag him.

All the same, he was dashing to try and intercept. Albert strained his pounding legs even harder, and veered even harder towards the boundary. He was going to make it!

"Whoa!" Euan yelped. Albert turned his head to see Euan skidding into him at a surprising speed. His arms were windmilling as he tried to regain his balance, but there was no hope for it: he'd inadvertently ran onto a long muddy streak on the field. "Alberrrrrt!" he wailed, as he skidded into him, planting both hands on his back and upending both of them with his momentum. The ball flew out of Albert's hands and sailed back over his head, as he disentangled himself from Euan.

"Sorry Albert, I skidded," Euan said clambering to his feet, a long slick of mud up his side. Albert looked down at his shirt, but he seemed to have escaped the worst of it. Just Euan's luck.

"It's OK Euan. You alright?" he asked, offering his friend a hand up.

"I think so," Euan said, wiping the worst of the mud away. His eyes widened as he looked past Albert. Albert turned to see what Euan had seen. Sarah was running with the ball, straight for Henryk and Cubert. Regina was just behind her in support.

"Goooo Sarah!" Euan called. Sarah didn't acknowledge him though, but she passed to Regina a second or so afterwards. Albert started jogging back, just in time to see Henryk close and plant hands on her. She dropped the ball with a grunt of frustration, and Cubert scooped it up, putting on a burst of speed to lose Sarah. Once he had room, he held the ball out and punted it hard, deep, deep into Helen's half.

"Nice!" Albert said, as the ball sailed over his head. It bounced hard, and veered away into the right corner, with only Fionna anywhere near. As the forwards of both teams barrelled after it, with Arnold, Euan and the other backs in pursuit, Fionna picked it up and, realising the situation, elected to kick it into touch rather than be on the receiving end of a cluster-ruck. The teams slowed, as the ball bounced twice and settled. Fionna went to fetch it while the forwards formed up in their lines.

"Who wants it?" she squeaked in her little voice.

Natalie trotted up, and caught it before assuming the throw-in position. Albert ambled into place ten feet off and behind his forwards. He didn't get a chance to lay his hands on the ball though, as Si and Tad hoisted Helen up when the ball was thrown, and she ripped it out of the air and passed it back to Regina. Regina veered away from the forward lines, only to dally back when Keeno and Iola closed on her.

"Pass the damn ball, Princess!" Helen snapped, surging forward. Regina looked back, and threw it into her path - surprisingly well-judged. It certainly caught Albert off-guard, as Helen charged past him. He sprang after her.

"Get her!" Henryk howled, but too late. Keeno and Iola were completely wrong-footed, and Helen was hugging the touchline close. Albert pumped his arms and legs as hard as he could to catch up, and stride by feverish stride, he gained on her.

It was weird, he thought, as he swung his arms and legs like pistons. If he didn't know better he would've sworn she was slowing on purpose. Less than five yards...Albert put on an extra spurt and reached out, managing to plant both hands on the small of her back, before slowing down, his lungs fit to burst.

Helen...kept on running.

"Helen!" Albert called between breaths. "I tagged you!"

She paid no attention, running over the goal line and slamming the ball down like some American footballer.

"Hah!" she said, turning to Albert and the other players, some way behind him. "Too slow, Alberto."

"No I wasn't," Albert said. "I tagged you. Fifteen yards back."

Helen snorted. "Didn't feel it. Maybe if you weren't such a noodlearm, eh rugby face?"

Albert scowled.

"Well, take my word for it. I tagged you."

"Yeah, whatever, Albert," Regina said, as she approached. "You're just annoyed because Helen knocked you over before."

"I am not!" Albert protested, but it was no use. Helen had already tossed the ball to Henryk, who seemed content enough to kick off again. He grimaced, but began the walk back to his position, still out of breath.

Helen brushed past him as she jogged back, jostling him.

"Better luck next time, mate," she said, under her breath. Albert seethed.

"Move it, pigtails!" Henryk shouted.

"Keep your hair on, pig-boy! Crikey!" she retorted, but double-timed it all the same. Henryk barely waited until she was back in her half before kicking off, a meaty boot sending it half the length of the field. The team surged forward, Cubert and Janesh at the front. They weren't going to get to it before Si though, who scooped it up and ran hard at them, to make up as much ground as he could. Just before Janesh could lay hands on him, though, Si snapped the ball back to Tad, who doubled back, holding the ball over his head, cackling madly.

"Catch me if you can, cretins!" he cried, as every player on the field tried to run him down. And with good reason. Tad was an unpredictable sort. "Ahahahahahaha!"

He turned again, and dropkicked the ball high, high into the air, before capering off the field entire, still laughing like a loon.

Helen was best-placed to catch it, its downward momentum taking her to her knees before she stood, and made her break forward. A clever jink took her past Cubert, but Albert wasn't so easily fooled. As she tried to feint past him, he turned and pounced when she moved for real. Both his hands fastened round her arm, but she quickly shook them off, and kept on running.

"Hey!" Albert exclaimed. Henryk and the others on his team were quick to take up the complaint this time.

"You want it, you come and get it, rugby face!" Helen slung the words back at him.

...That was _it_! Again Albert charged after her, his short legs pounding turf like the dickens to catch up and bring her down.

"What're you gonna do, Albert?" she mocked him, even as he began to close the three-yard gap. "Gonna tackle me? I'm well scared!"

Albert kept his head down and forward, closer and closer, until the tufts of grass and clods of mud she tore up as she ran assaulted his shins. At full stretch, he leapt, head to her right, arms closing round her thighs. With her legs locked, she tripped and skidded, the ball flying out in front of her as she flung out hands to break her fall. The two of them slid across the damp grass a few feet before coming to a halt.

For a while they lay silent, both panting from their exertion - then Helen shifted underneath him, turned over to look at him, his head still resting by her side.

"Albert-" she began, the hostile edge to her voice lost. There was a quavering in her- her eyes, her voice. Albert's satisfaction was replaced by concern.

"Are you alright, Helen?" he said, getting to his knees and offering her a hand sitting up. She stared at the hand a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it, and backhanded it away.

"Don't crowd me, cretin!" she snapped, getting to her feet. Albert followed suit as the others approached.

"Hey Albert, you know we're playing _touch_ rugby, right?" Regina said.

"I know that," Albert replied irritably, annoyed by her condescending tone. "Someone should tell Helen."

"Yeah!" Henryk concurred loudly. "Albert tagged you, Helen! You cheated!"

"Bollocks did I!" Helen said. "Albert can't tag for love or money. If rugby face decides to _land_ on me, that's not my fault!"

Albert sighed. This was holding up the game.

"Look, can we all just agree to play by the rules from now on?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get on with the game," Helen said.

The rest of the game passed without incident. Well, Euan managed to miss a penalty kick, slip over and give himself concussion, but the game passed without _unusual_ incident.


	2. Chapter 2: The Gambit

Hey Arnold! is the property of some other fellas. Criticism always gratefully received. On with the show.

-aN-

Helen stared into the changing room mirrors, alone as the other girls showered. She picked the worst of the mud from her hair as she lamented her grave errors of conduct.

"Oh woe! Oh doom! Oh unhappy life, that brings me close to my beloved Albert, and yet so very far from the reciprocation of my deepest and most private desires. He...held me - with those tender hands he bore me to the ground, and yet all that came from my lips was coarse and earthy as the cursed mud! Base cowardice - if I were braver, like my love, what then couldn't I speak to him? Oh Albert, bold Albert, courageous Albert, virtuous and valiant Albert, if only you could teach me your strength!" Her single thick eyebrow furrowed as she realised.

"Wait a mo, that's not a bad idea."

Invigorated by her new scheme, she produced her secret locket, pressed the miniature of Albert to her lips then held it above, gazing rapturously at it.

"Albert! My love, I shall study at your lovely feet and become nobler in your eyes, that I may be worthy of your affections!"

Fionna emerged from the shower cubicle wrapped in her towel, and replaced her glasses.

"Did you say something, Helen?" she asked, wiggling a finger in her ear to winkle out water.

"What?" Helen turned around, panicked. "Fionna, don't _do that_!" She replaced her locket in the pocket closest to her heart. Fionna noted this.

"Soliloquising about _ice cream _again, Helen?" she said.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, ice cream," Helen said. "I was just thinking, y'know, that ice cream is so brilliant, and wouldn't it be great if I was more like ice cream?"

"Whatever do you mean, Helen?"

"Well," Helen said, hesitating, "You know, maybe the reason ice cream hasn't realised how I feel about it is because I'm so different to...ice cream."

"How do you intend to go about remedying that, Helen?" Fionna asked, puzzled.

"I dunno, Fio!" Helen said, exasperated. "I can't just walk up to ice cream and say, hey, teach me how to be more like you, that'd look _ridiculous_."

Fionna giggled, although she stopped when Helen fixed her with one of her Looks.

"I'm sorry Helen," she said. "I do understand the difficulty of your predicament. I shall endeavour to think of a solution."

"You do that, Fio," Helen said, as Natalie and Sarah left their cubicles. "I gotta get home." She shouldered her kit bag.

"See you tomorrow, Helen," Fionna beamed.

Helen set out from the girl's changing rooms at quite a lick. The wrestling highlights started in fifteen minutes, and she wasn't about to miss a moment.

But- Janesh and Albert were just leaving the boy's changing rooms. Albert's blond hair was still wet from the shower, slick against his adorable little rugby-ball head. Seeing Helen approach, Janesh grew a lopsided grin,- leaned down to his shorter friend and muttered some comment. Albert didn't visibly respond; but still, her ire was raised.

"Out the way, peons!" she declared, barging through the two of them.

When she was reliably out of earshot Janesh tutted.

"I told you, man," he said. "Helen G. Patterson is not the 'noble in defeat' kind."

"I don't know, Janesh," Albert said. "Do you think she's still annoyed I tackled her like that?"

"No, Albert," Janesh replied. "I think she was surprised. I'm still surprised. Maybe you should be playing real rugby."

"Nah," Albert said. "Me? I'm not exactly the right shape for it."

"That can change, my friend," Janesh said, laying a hand on Albert's shoulder as they began the walk home. "My informant Floppy Sandals happens to know a guy trying to shift a whole load of those dietary supplements for bodybuilders. You know, those weird-tasting shakes and things like that."

"Yeah, but Floppy Sandals also said frogs grow their legs back if you chop them off," Albert reminded him.

"Yeah," Janesh reminisced, "Tad was not a happy man when he realised."

"I just think I'm always going to be a small guy," Albert said.

"Chin up, Albert!" Janesh said. "You're not that short, man!"

Albert gave a sidelong, unimpressed look to Janesh, before turning back, to cross the road.

"I wish I could be stronger. Like Henryk or Helen."

"Helen?" Janesh echoed, sceptical.

"Yeah, Janesh. You have to admit, she's a lot stronger than she looks. I mean, she can beat up Henryk and the other guys."

"They just don't wanna hit a girl, Albert."

"And being beat up by a girl is better?" Albert pointed out. "They're afraid of her. If I could learn what it is that makes Helen so scary, I could be a better rugby player. And maybe she wouldn't push me around as much."

"What're you saying, man?" Janesh asked, incredulous. "You think Helen's going to teach you how to be as big a freak as her?"

"I don't know, Janesh. I'm just thinking aloud." Albert shrugged.

"Yeah well," Janesh countered. "You should think quieter. People're going to think you're funny in the head."

Albert pulled a half-smile, and said nothing more on the subject.

They arrived at Albert's home first, his grandparents' boarding house.

"See you tomorrow, Albert," Janesh said. They gave each other their special handshake, and Albert waved off his friend, before ringing the doorbell.

His grandfather answered. He was wearing blue, paint-spattered overalls. From the looks of things it was 'repainting the walls to cover the mould and water stains day'. Early this year, Albert thought.

"Hello there, Short-man!" he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "How was Games?"

"Oh, it was OK, Grandpa," Albert said, hanging up his school blazer on the peg by the door. "We played touch rugby. Mostly."

"What makes you say that, Albert?" his Grandpa asked.

Albert shrugged.

"Well, Helen kept cheating when I tagged her, so I kind of had to tackle her," Albert said, still slightly uneasy about the matter.

Grandpa laughed.

"She's the grumpy one with the one eyebrow, isn't she?"

"That's her."

"Well, good on you, Short-man." Grandpa turned away, and reached for the paint roller he had put down in the tray. "Lot of boys your age would be worried about tackling a girl, even a mean old cheater like her. But you should never be afraid to do the right thing. You're a good boy, Albert."

"Thanks, Grandpa," Albert said. "I didn't really think about it like that."

"Well of course not," Grandpa said. "You're only nine. You're still young and stupid." He started rolling paint onto the walls. "You've got a long way to go before you can be old and stupid, like me. But I have faith in you."

Albert rolled his eyes and began the trek upstairs to his attic room.

"Thanks, Grandpa," he murmured.

"No problem, Short-man," Grandpa said. "Oh, but if you're not too busy, once you've changed out of your uniform if you could lend me a hand?"

Albert sighed, but agreed.

"I'll be down in a minute, Grandpa."

He rounded the first set of stairs, and headed up the second, to the attic. He opened the door, and entered his sanctum.

Large skylights let in generous amounts of sunlight - or daylight, at least. There wasn't much in the way of sun at the moment, but he could hope. On the other side of the room, a door let out onto his little balcony, where he kept his modest pigeon coop, a few plants he was growing and his meteorological instruments, which he was using for a science project.

He opened it, watered his plants with the little can he kept nearby, and thought.

Helen was not exactly likely to fall over herself to help him out. Yet he could think of no-one better to give him an edge. Grandma was a formidable sensei, when the mood took her, but karate was hardly going to improve his rugby game.

So how was he going to ask her in a way that wouldn't end in the words 'Sod off, rugby face'? Hmm.

She scaled the stairs, two at a time, still sniggering to herself. That last match had been such a boring squash. She wondered which of the bookers got fired for that particular waste of time.

Helen knelt before her little rugby ball-faced shrine, adorned with fairy lights and strewn with petals from flowers Helen plucked out of hanging baskets when no-one was looking. Really, the whole false wardrobe back shrine set-up was kind of a pain in the arse but she couldn't risk her parents stumbling across it. Or her painfully perfect sister Eleanor.

She reached behind her and switched on the CD player. A swelling string section carried her mind into thoughts of her beloved, her dearest Albert, he of the mesmerising green eyes, cornflour hair that blossomed from his head like wild oats from a hill, that coy smile that tugged on his lips and her heartstrings with equal fervour. How could he be so beautiful? How could he be so...infuriating? She felt a first line forming on her lips, and reached for her poetry book.

_I see your face before I wake_

_Those eyes that ever haunt my days_

_I struggle 'gainst the will to break_

_To tell you of the love I'd slake_

_Upon your tender lips and shake_

_Myself from envy's toxic haze. _

'Hmm, not bad,' she thought to herself, setting her pen down once more. It needed another stanza, she was fairly sure, but that would have to wait. For now, her thoughts were drifting back to her conversation with Fionna. The idea, the mere thought of studying her love's character further and more intimately, learning the source of his yearning for justice, the forces that churned within his heart and gave him such implacable trust in the goodness of mankind - it seized upon her, a grave and consuming temptation. How could she possibly resist?

She must. Ignorant as he was of her private love, even Albert, dear, silly Albert would have to put two and two together if she asked him to share with her his philosophy of life. And what would he say? He would think her mocking him, or seeking another weakness to exploit and make him miserable. Oh cruel life, that she must be compelled to heap scorn upon the one soul for who she would risk near anything: anything except exposure, that is. And yet, without his help, how else would she learn the moral fortitude to risk all in Venus' name?

"Man," Helen said to herself. "And people say Helen of Troy had it bad."

Her phone began to ring. Startled, Helen straightened, banging her head on the shelf above her.

"Ow! Crikey!" she exclaimed. "I'm coming!"

She clambered out of her walk-in wardrobe, and slid the false panel back into place before crossing the room to her bed and answering the phone.

"Yeah? Who is it?" she said, rubbing the sore spot on her head.

"Uh, Helen? It's Albert."

"Albert!" Helen exclaimed. "I-uh, I mean, what you calling me for, rugby-face?"

She could hear a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I just wanted to check there weren't any hard feelings about the rugby game," he said. "You know, me tackling you and everything."

His concern hit her like a defibrillator, warm shockwaves buzzing through her nerves. She wasn't even aware how heavily it had hit her until-

"Helen? You still there?"

"Yeah I'm here, Alberto. Look, maybe you need to check for boo-boos with Turbantastic every time you two play rough, but Helen G. Patterson is made of stronger stuff, OK?"

"I thought so. I just wanted to check."

"Well, is that everything, rugby-face? You kind of interrupted something."

"Um, actually, there is something." Albert sounded more urgent. "I have something to ask you."

"Make it quick then, you got one minute," Helen said, picking at the nails on her hand.

"I was wondering," Albert began. "Would you be able to coach me at rugby? I know you're a good player. You're probably the best in the year. I'd really like to make the team, you see."

"You're kidding," Helen said, slightly taken aback.

"No, really. It'd only be until trials in a fortnight." Albert was definitely in earnest. "Could you?"

She took a while to compose her response.

"Five quid an hour."

"What?"

"Five quid an hour, rugby face. That's a good rate. I could be charging minimum wage."

"Um, Helen, minimum wage for under 18s is like £3.50."

"That's my offer, rugby face. Take it or leave it."

"One pound fifty," Albert countered.

"What you trying to pull? Four fifty."

"Two pounds."

"Four. And you are literally robbing me blind here, rugby face."

"Two and I'll do your Science homework."

"...Deal."

"Great!" Albert said. "When can we start?"

"Hold your horses, boyo," Helen said. "We're not starting this little boot camp any time soon. I need time to get my training regimen together. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this right."

"OK. Whatever you say, Helen," Albert said, sounding pleased.

"You got that right. I won't take any of your lip, no stupid friendship speeches or anything like that while we're doing this, alright?" Helen said. "First hint of any kind of bogus, inspiring humanistic crap and we're done, you hear me?"

"Yeah, sure, Helen." Albert's sunny mood was proving difficult to shift. "Well, let me know when you're ready to roll.

"Don't hold your breath, rugby head. Don't call us, we'll call you. Yadda yadda."

"See you tomorrow at school then," he said.

"Whatever."

She hung up.

Albert replaced the phone on hearing the dialling tone.

That went about as well as could be expected, he thought. He'd thought the homework would clinch it. Good thing he'd been saving his pocket money. He was going to need a rather extensive course if he wanted to make the team, he was certain.

Helen replaced the phone.

He'd called her! At her house! And they'd arranged to meet! It was kind of like a date, kind of. Except that she'd belittled him and was going to charge him for the privilege. But still!

Another thought crossed her mind, and she slapped herself.

_'He's not interested in spending time with you, idiot'_, it said. '_He wants to learn to play. Albert's so magnanimous he'd probably take pointers from Hannibal Lecter. This doesn't mean _anything'.

She sat hard on the bed.

It was true, it wasn't like Albert had picked her for her charms or winning personality. He must be really serious about wanting to get better.

_'Well,'_ she thought, a sly smile tugging at her mouth '_He's not the only one who can get serious.'_


	3. Chapter 3: Boot Camp

appositeNautilus does not own Hey Arnold!. But he does own a pretty awesome pair of boots. Seriously. They're so cash.

It's readin' time, boys and girls!

-aN-

Albert clattered down the stairs in his hiking boots, very oldest jeans and one of Mr. Mgumbe's cast-off T-shirts. It was so big on him the sleeves very nearly covered his elbows.

"Nice of you to drop in, Short-man," his Grandpa said, offering the boy a toothy grin. "Tell you what, you crack on with everything below the dado rail. I'll finish off the ceiling. Mind the drips!"

"That's OK, Grandpa," Albert said, picking up the brush and dipping it in the pot. "I need a shower anyway."

"Hmm? Oh yes, you were playing rugby before," Grandpa said. "Did you win?"

"Yeah," Albert said. "Henryk and Cubert are really good. They're probably going to get into the school team."

"Are you going to try for it?" Grandpa asked, slathering his roller over an annoying corner.

"…Yeah," Albert said. "I think I might have a chance."

"Of course you do, Short-man," Grandpa said. "You've got pluck. If you can tackle that mean old Cheaty McMonobrow of course you've got a chance. Rugby's all about pluck—it's just a shame you're so darn diminutive."

"Well, that's why I'm getting Helen to help me out," Albert said, evening out the streaks he'd made on the wall.

"What? You're getting her to help you break into the rugby team?" exclaimed Grandpa, confounded. "But—how?"

"I'm paying her," he said. "Two quid an hour plus I do her Science homework for two weeks."

Grandpa chuckled.

"Ah, the old homework gambit. Well, best of luck to you, Short-man. I'd help out myself, but you know, I've just not had the spirit for rugby since the hip transplant."

"Thanks Grandpa. I think it'll work out," he said, idly daubing the image of a rugby ball on a bare part of the wall. "I'm sure she won't let me down."

Helen held a ball behind her back as, chest out, eyes glinting, she surveyed her prey.

"Alright, rugby face, listen up, 'cos I'm only gonna say this once. During these sessions the first and last words to come out of your mouth unless otherwise informed will be 'ma'am'! Do you understand?"

"Helen, is all this strictly - ow!"

Helen pelted him with the ball, striking him on the shoulder.

"What did I just tell you, boy?" she said.

"Ma'am, the first and last words out of my mouth must be 'ma'am'."

"Must be 'ma'am' _what_?" Helen prompted him.

"Ma'am, the last word out of my mouth was already 'ma'am'. I thought it would be more efficient and, y'know, less stupid-sounding that way instead of repeating 'ma'am'."

"That tears it!" Helen cried. "Two laps round the course for insubordination!"

"_What_ insubordination?" Albert said.

"_Three laps_! Double-time! Shift it!" Helen pointed. Albert looked mutinous, but started running around the perimeter of the assault course she had assembled from scrap and old garden furniture. She was rather pleased with herself, all things considered. There were the usual suspects, a tyre trap track, a balance beam, a set of rusty monkey bars she'd repainted. She'd even rigged up a couple of tackling dummies using some of Rob's old packing foam and a couple of Millicent's unused mannikins.

'If I must charge Albert for the pleasure of spending time with him,' she had thought, 'Then he will at least get his money's worth'. The drill sergeant routine she'd cribbed from Rob's old movies - well, that was for her benefit as much as anything.

"You think I'm pulling your leg, rugby face?" she said, noticing him slacking. "Shake a bloody tail feather, before I really give you something to run from!"

She held up Queensbury and the Famous Five to illustrate her point. Albert renewed his efforts, his blond hair bobbing back and forth as he ran. She watched his chest rise and fall as he pumped his slender limbs, adorable in his blue shorts and football shirt.

Her mind wandered and she imagined herself in a diaphanous summer dress, running beside him along a beach marinated in the glorious crimson of a tropical sunset.

Oh, Albert...

"Ma'am?" Albert panted. "You say something, ma'am?"

"Um...yeah!" Helen said, shaking her fantasies from her head. "Yeah, I said give it a rest Alberto, you're making me dizzy!"

"Ma'am, whatever you say, ma'am," he said, gratefully returning to the centre of the field.

"Heleeeeen?" Millicent called from inside. "Have you seen my smoothie shaker?"

Helen rolled her eyes.

"It's under the sink next to the colander, Mother!" she said.

"Oh! Oh yeaaaah, I see it now. Thaaaanks, honey..."

"You're welcome," Helen said through gritted teeth as Albert watched with those damnably shrewd green eyes.

"Oh, Helen? Do you want me to mix up something special for you and your little playmate?"

Helen cringed.

"No, Millicent, we're fine! _Really!_" Helen strode over to the patio door and yanked it shut.

"Not a smoothie fan?" Albert asked.

"Not the way _she_ makes them," Helen said.

"Fair enough." Albert said, walking over to the monkey bars and perching on one of the rungs. "So, ma'am, what's next, ma'am?"

"Hmm," Helen pondered a moment. "Drop and give me twenty while I think."

Albert obliged, while Helen strolled around thinking.

Eventually, she stopped, arms behind her back, while Albert finished off his press-ups.

"So, geekbait, why do you want to play rugby?" she said.

"Um, I dunno," Albert said, turning to face her and sitting up, the heels of his hands dug into the grass. "Ma'am," he hastily added.

"You don't _know?_"

"Well, I guess I like it. It's fun. And it's more challenging than football. You use more of your body. And people are less pretentious about it."

"Less pretentious? Whaddya mean?" Helen said, genuinely puzzled by this.

"Well, you know how it gets with football. Everyone takes it so seriously all the time. I guess even though rugby's more physical, it's less emotional. I don't like my sports to be too demanding like that." Albert saw the thoughtful expression on her face. "Was that not the right answer, ma'am?"

"Well...sure it's not the right answer, rugby face!" Helen snapped. "If you wanna be any good at rugby, you gotta want to play to win!"

"Well, of course I want to win, ma'am," Albert said. "I don't think anyone plays to lose."

"Insubordination! Two laps round the course!" Helen spluttered.

Albert sighed, and began running.

_This isn't working,_ Helen thought. _You're not learning how to be more like Albert, you're just making him think what a bossy cow you are! Get it together!_

She waited until he finished before sitting down on one of the tyres, and indicating for him to do the same.

"You've got the beginnings of a good attitude there, Alberto," she told him. "But attitude'll only get you so far. Rugby's a physical game. Not every Johnny Gymshorts and Lucy Limpwrist can play well. Your body must be a well-kept engine."

"Yes, ma'am," Albert said, slightly out of breath. "That's why I came to you, ma'am."

"Yeah, don't go all mushy on me," she said. "You've gotta respect your body, and respect your opponents'."

"How do you mean, ma'am?"

"Well, you want to win, right?" Helen said. "So you're going to try your hardest. You want to be in the best state you can be."

"Sure."

"Your opponent probably thinks exactly the same, if they're serious about the game. You can't give any quarter. You've gotta have a killer instinct. Figuratively speaking."

"Killer instinct..." Albert repeated.

"Going into a tackle with anything less than _100% commitment _is a sign of disrespect, for you as well as your opponent. Either you want to win the ball or you don't. We're not playing football here with its etiquette and its hand-wringing over good old-fashioned bone-crunchin'. Now," she said, standing up, allowing herself the slightest of smiles, "I already know you can tackle worth a damn in a pinch, but I wanna see you do it twenty times in a row. So."

She indicated the training dummies.

"Show me what you got."

Albert hunched over in the standard tackling stance, and charged at the first dummy. He caught it in the stomach, his arms around where the ribs would be on a person, and bore it down, his head buried in its gut.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold it there," Helen said, as he hit the ground. "What the heck was that?"

"Was that not right, ma'am?" Albert asked, picking himself up. He started righting the dummy.

"Of course it was right - if you were 25 stone with a neck thicker than your _dumb rugby ball face_!" she said, stamping over and resetting the dummy herself as Albert struggled with it. "You don't run into someone head first, glue-for-brains!"

"Why not, ma'am?" Albert asked.

"Because, peon, then your neck takes all the force of the tackle, and that's how bones get broken. Derf!"

"Well, how should I do it then, ma'am?" Albert said.

Helen rolled her eyes.

"Fine, bend over."

"Huh?"

"Bend over!" she repeated. Albert did as she said.

"Not there, peon, next to the dummy!" she pointed, rolling her eyes.

Albert shifted over to beside the dummy. Helen followed him.

"Alright," she said, grabbing him by the collar. "Head goes _here_."

She planted his head on the right, just at buttock height.

"Arms go round here," she continued, wrapping his arms round, a few inches below on the thighs. "Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Albert said.

"So tell me: what's the difference with this position?"

"Um, well, my shoulder takes the impact this time, ma'am." Albert said, his voice slightly muffled from round the other side of the dummy.

"You're getting it," Helen said. "Maybe you can be taught. _Maybe_." She circled him, checking his position. "OK. Now. Do what I just showed you, twenty times."

"Yes, ma'am," Albert grimaced, standing up and jogging off to get a run-up. Helen stepped out of the path of the dummy to observe.

Albert backed up a dozen or so paces, rolled his head round on his shoulders, and dropped into a run, arms out and ready. Helen winced, a split-second before he impacted, as she saw he was overcompensating for before though, and - clang.

Albert ran his shoulder into the bottom half of the mannikin - the slender pole that tapered out into the stand. Helen had only been able to give them a single layer of foam with what she had left after filling out the torsos.

Albert bounced off the pole, clutching his shoulder, as the mannikin rocked and fell in the other direction.

"Ouch. You alright, Albert?"

"Ow." Albert didn't seem badly hurt, despite his pretty close encounter with an iron rod.

"You, uh, you overcompensated. You don't need to aim that low. In a game, you'd probably get a faceful of knee or studs if you went in like that. So, uh, in hindsight that was a fairly accurate depiction of tackling too low..." Helen tailed off, feeling somewhat guilty. "Do you want a hand up?"

Albert accepted it.

"Wanna try again?" she said.

"Actually, for now, I wanna have a rest," he said, holding his shoulder.

"Sure thing, Albert," Helen said, and pointed him towards a bench at the back of the garden. "You, uh, you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Albert said, "I just need a minute."

He went over and lowered himself into the bench. Helen followed, hovering around, not quite sure what to do with herself.

"Y...y'know, if you've managed to prang yourself in the first five minutes, rugby face, you're still paying me," was all she could think to say.

"I don't think it's that bad," he said.

"Let me look," Helen insisted, sitting on the bench beside him.

"Really, you don't nee-"

"Hey," Helen interrupted. "My garden, my fault. You can't even see how bad it is. Let me."

Turning and kneeling to face him, Helen pulled his hand away from the part of the shoulder he was covering: close to the neck, where the collarbone tapered into the shoulder blade. She tugged on his football shirt, so she could clearly see the exposed skin. As she scrutinised it, she detected the scent of peppermint on his hair, and fought the urge to breathe it in more deeply.

The affected area was quite red, but didn't look to be bruising. Her fingertips flitted over his shoulder and collarbone, applying minute amounts of pressure.

"Tell me if it hurts anywhere else," she murmured. Albert nodded, but winced only when she depressed the red area. As far as she could tell, it was just a knock.

"It doesn't seem like you damaged anything, Albert," she said, still perched at his shoulder.

"Huh?" Albert turned to look at her, their faces scant inches apart. Helen was in dire peril of being mesmerised by his eyes. She looked away, and sat back down.

"You're fine, rugby face," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just get your oddball grandparents to have a look when you get home."

"Huh?"

"Well, I'm not going to bother training you if you're not in a state to do anything strenuous," Helen said. "You might as well leave."

"I paid for an hour!" Albert protested.

"And I'm saying I'm not training you. So go home. Leave your money on the patio." Helen crossed her arms and looked away.

"Well, we don't have to do training," Albert said. "I just- I'd like to feel like I got my money's worth, y'know."

Helen turned back and gave him a puzzled look.

"Like how?"

"I dunno," Albert said. "We could talk. You could tell me how you know so much about rugby."

"Thrilling," Helen said, planting her head on her hand, propped up on the bench arm.

"Well, you think of something, then."

"Alright, I'll think of something - what's your deal, rugby face?" she said.

"My deal?"

"Yeah," Helen said. "Why are you still here? What makes you think I want you here?"

"Well, I dunno," Albert said. "You were happy enough to take my money before."

"That was when I was bossing you around!" Helen pointed out. "I mean, wouldn't you rather be at the cricket nets with Janesh or- or something?"

"Well, in a way," Albert admitted. "But I'm kind of curious."

"You are? About what?"

"Why'd you go to so much trouble?" Albert said, indicating the training course. "I mean, it looks like you made those dummy things yourself."

"Those old things? Nah, they were just lying around the house," Helen said, giggling nervously.

"Well, even so," Albert said. "I'm really impressed. I wasn't sure what to expect when I asked you to help me, but this is amazing."

"Well- yeah!" Helen said. "I knew it'd take the full nine yards to get you into shape, Alberto."

"Yeah," Albert said, looking at his feet. "Well, thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Helen said. "We've only been going ten minutes and you've already managed to injure yourself."

"Do you think I can get on the team though?" he asked. "Or are you just humouring me and taking my money?"

"You what?" Helen said, scowling. "You think I'd do that?"

"You might," Albert said. "It wouldn't be the worst thing you've done."

"What? Name one bad thing I've done, rugby face!" Helen said.

"There was that time you followed me around all day and night reminding me how long I had before Henryk beat me to a pulp," Albert said. "And the time you started that newspaper and lied about everyone."

"Yeah, fair enough," Helen said, turning her head, indignant.

"And the time you poured glue on my seat and chucked feathers over my arse. And the time-"

"OK, OK, I get the picture! I'm a terrible person, alright?" Helen threw up her hands in defeat. "I'm not some peaches-and-cream goody-goody girl scout like Iola. Or you."

"I don't think you're a terrible person," Albert said.

"You? You couldn't see the bad side of a stroke," Helen snapped.

"I mean it though," he persisted. "You do bad things, but I think you don't want to. I don't know why."

"Didn't I warn you about this?" Helen drawled.

"Well, I know you can be good fun at times," Albert said. "Like that week we met in Brighton on holiday. You looked out for me. If you were that terrible you wouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, whatever," Helen said. "I- I just didn't like that Surma girl messing with you. That's my job." _He's getting too close - you need to shut him up!_ she thought.

"Well, there was that time you walked me home and listened after Iola knocked me back," he said.

"Yeah, like anyone has a chance with Little Miss Paragon," Helen said, scorn dripping off her tongue. "Look, Albert, the Mini-Ghandi trick is amusing to a point, but give it a rest, eh?"

"It's not a trick, Helen, I really believe it."

"Well, you're wrong!" Helen snapped. "I'm not sweet and I'm not cuddly, OK? You've seen my family, you know what they're like!"

"Have you seen the people I live with?" Albert retorted. "They're all mental, the lot of them! You can't just make excuses for who you are!"

"Well, not everyone's like you, Albert!" Helen spat back. "Not everyone _wants_ to be a complete pushover!"

"Is that what you think I am?" Albert said, shocked.

"Oh, don't act surprised, rugby face," Helen sneered. "Never heard 'nice guys finish last'?"

"'Finish last'?" Albert said. "How're you defining last? At least I have more than one friend!"

Helen opened her mouth, then shut it, turning away speechless.

_Don't let him see you cry_, she thought. _Never let him see you cry._

"Um, Helen?" Albert's voice had a note of panic in it now. Too late. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Get out," she said, under her breath.

"Helen, I didn't mean to-"

"GET _OUT_, ALBERT!" she shrieked. "Leave me _alone!_ I don't want to see you! Get lost! If I ever see you round here again, I'll beat your face into the kerb!"

Albert got to his feet and made to leave. He turned back.

"It's not true, what I said," he told her. "You have lots of people that care about you."

Helen didn't respond. Albert hovered a moment longer, unsure, then left, shutting the garden gate behind him.

Helen sat in her garden, alone, and cried. And cried.


End file.
